


apathy

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: College AU, Drabble, Germany's Sad, Human AU, M/M, Sorry 4 Purple Prose, This Took Fifteen Minutes, Underage Drinking, Unreliable Narrator, college party, implied depression, very self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 21:06:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14941383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: the worst part about slipping back into it is that you can feel it coming on. you start to lose interest. you're more apathetic. you don't get angry and you don't get sad and you never get happy. you just get drunk and hope you can ride it out without ending it all.





	apathy

**Author's Note:**

> the summary sounds angsty but its not even that bad. i don't know why i'm so melodramatic all the time.

It starts like how all stories do. Ludwig stands at the back of the bustling front room, trying desperately to both be seen and unseen. The punch is nice. As of right now, there wasn’t any alcohol in it. It is cheap stuff and it smells vaguely of fermented fruit, but it tastes just fine. He has been filling up his cup there for hours now. He can’t bring himself to leave and his feet are planted to the ground so firmly that he’s sure he can’t move even if he wants to. The music is loud and it swells and lulls to the beat of some forgotten electronic song that no one actually likes, yet feels obligated to tolerate. He’s alone, but not lonely and it is all agonizingly contenting. A few drunken co-eds ask him to dance, but he turns them down with a half-hearted smile and courteous wave. He couldn’t dance, and even if he could, he wouldn’t attempt to learn tonight. It was too crowded and sweaty and rank to enjoy any of it at all.  The red-head is pretty. He has a stunning smile and coats his lips in saliva whenever he looks at Ludwig. He’s less drunk than his friend and makes for a good conversationalist for a while. He asks him what he majors in and Ludwig is embarrassingly slow to answer. He hasn’t decided yet, but he makes up some answer that he hopes is impressive. It must have been good because he nods his head in what Ludwig supposes is fascination. His name is Feliciano, but no one calls him that because it’s a mouthful and he hates it. He tells him to call him Feli and never anything longer. He’s into the fine arts and wants to visit Paris someday. He begs Ludwig not to think he’s pretentious.  _ I just like the city.  _ Ludwig wishes him luck. He smiles. His smile is gorgeous. Feliciano is Italian, right? He nods with enthusiasm, speaking in his smooth, honey-like voice to distract Ludwig from his fingers inching up his forearm. His grandfather was Italian born and raised, but everyone after him was born in America. Feli is known to frequent Olive Garden, and he figures that he should feel shame. He wears his pseudo nationality proudly all the same. Ludwig fills his cup up with more punch. It has a tang this time, a tang too reminiscent of gin for anyone with half a brain to continue drinking it, but Feli is pulling on his forearm and asking about his internships and licking his lips like some kind of porn star. He downs the punch in one gulp.

  
  


Feli is skinny. He hardly fills up half the bed when they wake. Ludwig can see his collar bones jutting out from under his pale skin. There’s what seems to be a fading tan, but winter is coming quickly and it won't last for much longer. He’s frail and bony and remarkably less sexy than he had envisioned him to be the night before. He reminds himself that he hadn’t been drunk when they had met.  Ludwig’s stomach turns and he feels badly for thinking about Feli in a negative light. His red tee-shirt is abandoned on the foot of the bed, along with a stack of used condoms and a bottle of drugstore-brand lube. Ludwig finds it endearing. Feli is only rubbing the sleep out of his eyelids when Ludwig is shrinking himself out of the door. He sits up on his palms and turns towards him. His face is noticeably blank.

“Did you like it?”

“It was nice.”

“Do you even remember?” He stares at his painfully emotionless face and for a moment, he is filled with pity. For himself, chiefly. Ludwig answers truthfully.

  
  



End file.
